Before it Begins
by ValorieJueles
Summary: The night Dumbledore sets out to tell Riddle he is a wizard, a mysterious stranger pays him a visit. Harryhas decided to risk never being born to come back and kill his worst enemy before he is strong enough to take over. It's like what V. did to him.


This is my first ever one-shot. Review and tell me details I got wrong, or things I could have done better, critique my style, vent on life, tell me I can stick this story right up my ass- really, say anything you want.

I didn't come up with the immensely complex plotline that is Harry Potter. That would actually make me cool- and I'm not.

**Before it Begins**

A middle aged man stood in his office, examining his reflection. He wore a bright purple suit that might have been fitting on an extra exuberant leprechaun, but looked wildly out of place on this tall bearded man.

The man didn't seem to agree, as he adjusted the lapels and nodded to himself in the mirror before grabbing his coat.

"Not quite your color!" said the mirror snidely as he walked out of the room, but the man just chuckled as he closed the door.

"I'll have to agree with the mirror" said a calm voice right behind him as he shut it.

He whipped around and fixed his bright blue eyes on a boy who couldn't be more than nineteen at the most. But he knew it wasn't a student, past or present. And there was something in this boys bright green eyes, that twinkled sadly. It made him older then he was.

"Hello Professor." Whispered the boy sadly.

Dumbledore stared at him over his half moon spectacles, his blue eyes masked of all emotion.

"Might I ask your name and purpose here? I'm sorry we must make it quick, or I would invite you in my office. I have business I must attend to." Said Dumbledore smoothly. He wasn't impolite but there was just the barest hint in his voice that was menacing. It was clear he did not trust the mysterious man who hid behind his office door. No, he did not trust him at all.

As if he realized this, the boy laughed. It was sad to watch this boy laugh. His very manner suggested that a laugh was out of place, that it had no business being anywhere near this odd boy. So when he threw back his head of messy black hair, and laughed, it seemed to Dumbledore nothing short of tragic.

"You're off to see Tom Riddle aren't you?" asked the boy with a hint of a smile still lingering about his face. But when he said the name it seemed that his eyes distanced themselves even further from the tone of his voice, the smile on his lips. Dumbledore couldn't help wondering if this boy could even see him. How far away were those green eyes, and what were they watching?

Dumbledore merely raised his eyebrows at the strangers knowledge of his schedule.

"I am" he replied guardedly.

"Good" said the boy with those pained eyes "I'll walk with you."

Dumbledore nodded and gave the boy a calculating look. They started down the hall.

"Would you like to know who I am Professor?" asked the boy without looking at him.

"That might be helpful for further conversations." said the Professor.

The odd boy grinned and bobbed his head in agreement. He looked bashful.

"My name is Harry Potter" said the boy simply. He was used to this explaining everything, Dumbledore could tell, but why?

"You don't know that name yet." continued the boy "and if I succeed, then perhaps you never will"

"Riddles?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry Potter chuckled again.

"Sorry Professor, I'm from the future. I intend to change something that may stop me from ever being born. But it will save so many, professor..." He seemed to fade into dark thoughts.

Dumbledore was looking at him oddly. Was he lying? He should think so, but somehow he didn't. Somehow he knew this bizarre and sad man was telling the truth.

"What are you going to do?" asked Dumbledore quietly.

"I'm going to kill Tom Riddle." said Harry calmly.

Suddenly, Dumbledore's world began to spin. He was walking with a murderer. A dark wizard who targeted children! He stopped dead in his tracks, his anger potent in the air, an aura of dangerous magic filling the air.

"I don't think you are." he said in a composed voice.

Harry sighed, not at all intimidated. It seemed he'd anticipated this.

"Yes I am. I don't want to force you professor, but if in the end it becomes necessary, then I will kill him whether you are willing to let me or not."

He said the entire threatening speech looking at his feet. He seemed sad. That is until the end, when his brilliant green eyes glanced up to meet Dumbledore's with such defiance and anger in them, that even Dumbledore, a very powerful wizard, was afraid of the power they held. It wasn't magical power. It was pure determination.

"Why do you want to kill an eleven year old boy?" Asked Dumbledore, suddenly quite tired.

Harry Potter smiled. It was a bittersweet expression on him.

"Do you want to go back to your office, so we can talk?"

"I think that would be best."

They walked in silence back to the office. They settled across from each other Dumbledore simply stared at the man in front of him. His eyes were narrowed, and he was trying disparately to understand how such a quiet, soft spoken young man could have come so far into the past to commit murder.

There was something tragic about him. It screamed from every move he made, word he uttered. And so Dumbledore found that even though his mind was screaming for him to stop him, to contain him before he killed a young and utterly alone eleven year old, his instincts told him to hear what the tragic man had to say.

And so he waited for Harry Potter to begin his story.

The boy seemed to collect himself before he began. It sounded rehearsed, as if he had either told the story so many times he already knew what ways were most effective, or he had planned out what he was going to say.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, was born at the orphanage which you planned to visit tonight." he began. "His mother was a direct descendent of Salazar Slytherin. His father was a well off muggle who abandoned his mother, probably because he found out he'd been given a love potion. She survived long enough to name him. Tom after his father. Marvolo after his grandfather. This is what you knew when you stepped outside your office to find me standing there." Harry Potter sighed, steeling himself to continue. "What you would have found when you reached the orphanage, would have disturbed you greatly. Riddle, though he knew nothing of his magical heritage, had already begun experimenting with magic. Yes, Professor, he can already control it past the norm of accidental magic. But that wasn't what would have disturbed you. Nor would the fact that he could speak parseltongue have effected you. It was how he used these things. You see, at the young age of eleven, Tom Riddle was already using his powers to terrify the others in the orphanage. Hanging a pet bunny from the rafters was a particularly violent example, but I also believe there was a highly nasty incident in sea side cave, the details of which remain unknown even to me, but rest assured that the two small children who accompanied him were scarred deeply."

"What you would have done, upon finding this situation, was to vow to keep a close eye on him in his school years. Which you did Professor. Of all the teacher's he managed to charm with his considerable talent, good looks, and knack for never being caught in the act, you were never one to fall for it."

"But the first of quite disturbing incidents would be in Tom's sixth year. I've mentioned that he is the heir of Slytherin. Do you know of something horrible in this very school, that such a heritage could result in?" Harry looked at Dumbledore piercingly.

The transfiguration teacher was nodding. "The Chamber of Secrets... I always suspected it existed."

"You suspected correctly Professor." said Harry smoothly. "and contained with in it is a fifty foot basilisk, which only the heir can control. Under the control of Tom Riddle, this snake will kill a student. This, to the best of my knowledge is his first murder."

"First?" whispered Dumbledore into those sorry green eyes.

"Of many" answered Harry, "The next I am almost positive is his father, and grandparents. I believe he used the death of his remaining family to make a horcrux. His first. Again, of many."

Dumbledore was pale now. This was grave indeed. Horcruxes were the darkest of magic. And if he made more than one... This was assuming this tale was true. And it was getting more and more unbelievable.

"But he's just a boy." Dumbledore stated sadly.

"I'm not finished yet" said Harry bluntly. "Once Tom Riddle left school, he began to undergo dark magical transformations. These were intended to increase his power, and most of all, make him immortal. Above all, Riddle feared death. Thus the horcruxes. There were seven of those by the way. When Tom emerged he was barely human. He no longer styled himself Tom Riddle. Now, he was Lord Voldemort. He had followers. He had power. And he used them in the worst possible ways to gain more of both. By the time my parents were married, the wizarding world was in an all out war against him. Led, you might be interested to know, by you." Harry at this point spared Dumbledore one of his sad smiles.

"Shortly before my birth a prophecy was made. It named me, as the only one who could defeat the dark lord. 'Either must die at the hand of the other' I believe was how it was put by the seer. When I was one, Voldemort arrived at my house, intent on seeing that I would never be able to kill him. He killed my parents, but the love they marked me with when they died for me was enough of a shield that the spell he used on me backfired, removing him from his body. He didn't, however, die, because of the horcruxes. When I was in my forth year, he returned. And so did the killing, the destruction. Two years after he returned, you, along with hundreds more, had already died. A year after that, I was the only member of The Order of the Phoenix, which was the group you created to fight Voldemort, left alive. And so I decided to change everything. To come back, and make sure hundreds never died. And who knows? I may change history enough to have never existed myself. But that is a risk I will take for them."

Dumbledore stared at the boy who, if his story was to be believed, was only seventeen.

"I don't suppose you have any proof of this?" asked Dumbledore defeatedly.

The boy threw back his head and laughed. This time it sounded harsh.

"Would it matter, Dumbledore, if I did?" he said, the humorless laugh still on his face. "No, to answer your question, I have no proof I speak the truth. Except for this-" he swept aside his bangs to reveal the lightning scar across his forehead. "It's the bloody mark he gave me when he tried to kill me. The first time he tried to kill me that is." he laughed again. "In my time it's quite famous. Just can't get people to stop staring at the blood thing. Small price to pay for a thirteen year break from the war that tore the wizarding world apart. But those reporters were bloody annoying!" he laughed again.

And then he got very quiet. "I didn't come to you for your approval, Dumbledore. Or your permission either. Hell, I've gone a year without the awesome guidance of the great Albus Dumbledore. I will stop him, professor. He killed far younger children, in far more gruesome ways. And those children were innocent. Lord Voldemort, even as a child, could never have been considered innocent."

Harry stood up and started pacing the room angrily, not looking at Dumbledore, but his voice growing in volume again. "I didn't come here to talk about what's fair Dumbledore! I came here to do what needed to be done. Because life isn't fair Dumbledore! It wasn't fair for me, or my friends, moaning myrtle, or Bertha Jorkins, or Cedric Diggory, or my parents, or Sirius, it wasn't fair for any of them! And all I want is to tip the balance, so that one boy will die, and so many others will live! _So many Dumbledore!_ Why can't you understand? I've made my decision. He's going to die. And yes, it is my decision to make! I'm not messing with fate! I have a right to choose what I do in my life as much as him. And he destroyed their futures! I'll destroy his! What's the difference! We're the bloody same!"

All through this tirade, Dumbledore stayed calm and collected at his desk. There was a look of such pity on his face, that so young a man could be faced with so harsh a decision. Both of the occupants of the office knew the argument was not between Harry and Dumbledore. Harry was convincing himself to go through with it.

Harry collapsed into the chair again, his face bent over the desk, his hands in his hair.

"We are the bloody same, aren't we?" he whispered to the desk. "He marked me as his equal, we both speak parseltongue, we're both orphans. We both set off to kill the other while they are children, and unable to fight back. But I've decided, professor, that I don't care how much it makes me like him. I was always walking a fine line in that respect. If being like him saves one life, then I will do it. He will die tonight."

Dumbledore looked grave. "Please, see reason." he begged, "he is just a boy, it can be prevented-"

"No" whispered the raven haired man, still staring at the desk. "you do not know him as I do."

And then he stood and drew his wand. Dumbledore was a bit surprised.

"Do you intend to duel me?" this seventeen year old couldn't possibly stand a chance against him. He was well on his way to becoming the greatest wizard the world had ever seen.

The dark haired boy chuckled again. "No. But as I don't believe you wish to be an accessory to this murder, and because I cannot let you interfere, I must erase your memory." he raised his wand.

Dumbledore raised his own. "You really think I would let you without a fight?" he challenged.

"No" the boy whispered yet again "but I have survived Tom many, many times Professor. And as much as we liked to believe it while you lived, you were nothing, _nothing_ compared to Voldemort."

And with reflexes quicker than the middle aged Dumbledore could counter, Harry erased Dumbledore's memory.

Before the befuddled man could regain the focus in his eyes, he strode out the door. He summoned the records the school had on Riddle, and quickly set them ablaze. Now no one in the wizarding world would remember Tom Riddle. He'd been born in a Muggle orphanage, after all.

Harry Potter walked quickly to the edge of the grounds, and disaparated with a swish of his cloak.

He arrived with a pop just outside the door of the orphanage. Without bothering to knock, he walked in. Using certain talents which searching for horcruxes and wandering the halls of Hogwarts at night had taught him, he managed to slip past any prying eyes, and into the room which he remembered from the memory Dumbledore had showed him. He looked around the small room, and shivered. Tom Riddle lived here. And right now he was alone, sitting on his bed.

"Who are you?" he demanded "Tell me."

His voice held the tone of command even now at eleven that would make his hold on his death eater's so complete. Harry stared down at the boy who would be his greatest enemy. His foil.

"_Do you want power?_" he hissed in parseltongue. The boy's eyes widened in shock.

"_Who are you?_" he responded in the same language.

"_I will tell you._" said Harry with hatred. But Tom didn't notice, he was to enthralled with the man who spoke his language. "_When you answer my question. Do you wish for power?_"

"_Yesss_" hissed Tom with a hungry look on his face, the wild happiness which Harry had saw in the pensive over a year ago.

"_How much do want it? Would you kill for it? That boy downstairs, the one with the sandy hair, would you kill him for power? The power to control people, to bend them to your will. Think on your answer, as it will determine your fate. And many other's as well._" Harry stared intensely at the boy, but the mad look of happiness on the boys face never wavered. And not since Harry had arrived had the boy looked human.

"_Yesss, I would_" said the boy eagerly. "_Can you give me that power? Who are you? Answer me!_" his command had the same effect in parseltongue.

Harry's stare never left the creature on the bed. But his eyes were dead now. The sadness that leaked from ever bit of them was buried deeper than his heart now.

"_I'm you're murderer_" Said Harry in monotone, as he drew out his wand.

"_What?_" hissed Riddle, his wild happiness darkening to an even less human expression.

"AVADA KEDAVARA!" shrieked Harry, and in a flash of green light, sickeningly familiar, the boy in front of him was dead.

There were footsteps pounding up the stairs, to see what the shriek had been and Harry heard doors slam.

"Obliviate!" said Harry in a daze to the faces that stared at him from the doorway. Their eyes were suddenly out of focus, and in those few seconds, Harry disaparated with a pop.

He appeared with a crack in the only place he'd been able to think of. The graveyard where he'd watched his enemy rise again. Well, the boy would never rise again. He'd never risen at all. He walked amid the stone for a while. There were fewer of them. He realized suddenly that Voldemort's father wouldn't even be there. Not for years.

He was in shock. It was over. In fact, it had never begun. Voldemort would never kill those people. The world would never see the war. He was still shocked that he existed. He didn't think he'd ever understand why that was, but in that moment, he didn't think of it. In that moment, he didn't care.

What to do with himself now? He had no one. He was stuck here in a time before anyone he knew save Dumbledore was alive. Perhaps he could go see Hagrid. A small smile lit his face. He'd be quite young now, only about eight.

Harry sank down against a grave and hugged his knees. It didn't feel as though he had just saved the wizarding world. It felt as though he had just killed a small boy.

And the people he was supposed to have resurrected, where were they? Those he loved who wouldn't die now, why couldn't they be there, to celebrate to comfort him, to cry on his shoulder and offer a shoulder to cry on.

_Because they're dead_ said a voice in his head _and you're still alone_. Harry put his head in his hands and began to cry.

There was somewhere to go from here, he was sure. He could wait for them, see how the world changed without Voldemort. Move on with his life. Start new.

But for now, The- Boy- Who- Lived was content to sit in a dark graveyard, and cry for people who hadn't been born yet. And for small boys of eleven who had chosen so wrong.

I hope you enjoyed my plot bunny. I really hope you didn't think it was too blah to review, and are either furious that they would let such a bad writer as myself post things online, or thrilled with my idea. If one of the second, go ahead and click the review button. Seriously FLAME AWAY! At least it's an opinion of how you feel, and I want to improve my writing, so tell me where it sucked.

Ta.


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